


stomp stomp break his foot

by polkaprintpjs



Series: old west au [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: 1860's era mysoginy and medical predjudice, Alternate Universe - Human, Gen, Humanformers, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:28:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27964583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polkaprintpjs/pseuds/polkaprintpjs
Summary: Your hands still ache.The doctor is talking to Tailgate’s mother, words like ‘irreparable damage’ and ‘near total lack of sensation’.You don’t put much stock in it, though; you can feel every inch of scarring on your hands and just yesterday you’d managed to hold a bit of charcoal and scribble your name- shaky and nigh unrecognisable, but it was your name.The doctor may have saved your life, but he can’t know much at all.
Relationships: Tailgate & Whirl (Transformers)
Series: old west au [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1893397
Kudos: 6





	stomp stomp break his foot

Your hands still ache. 

The doctor is talking to Tailgate’s mother, words like ‘irreparable damage’ and ‘near total lack of sensation’. 

You don’t put much stock in it, though; you can feel every inch of scarring on your hands and just yesterday you’d managed to hold a bit of charcoal and scribble your name- shaky and nigh unrecognisable, but it was your name. 

The doctor may have saved your life, but he can’t know much at all. 

“She is in near constant pain.” Tailgate’s mother says, frowning. “Surely there is something to be done-” 

The doctor waves her off. 

“Nonsense. Now that the healing is mostly finished, she will have no pain- any complaints of such are shirking, nothing more.” 

You roll your eye. 

Beside you, Tailgate goes still and you try to catch her eye- she’ll have no more luck than her mother, and may well offend him greatly in the attempt. He catches on, though, and turns a frown on her. 

“It’s a simple truth, Miss. Especially amongst laborers, it’s quite common to pretend at discomfort for a bit more opium, not to mention the excitability of women.” 

You grit your teeth and say nothing. There is nothing to be said, nothing that will sway him. 

“You would leave her to suffer?” She asks, something angry in her voice. 

“Tailgate,” her mother says, sharply. “Why don’t you take her home, hm?” 

You stand and don’t wait for her to follow. 

She catches up while you struggle with the doorknob to the street. 

“Let me,” She says. 

You step aside and don’t look at her while she twists it open. 

You’re through and start down the street without her. 

“Whirl, wait!” 

You stop abruptly and a man shoulders past you, almost sending you into the street. He spins and crowds into your space. 

“Watch it, girlie. Move on before I drag you to your master by the ear, eh?” 

You’re angry, suddenly, furious at the presumption of this man and the casual dismissiveness of the doctor and the foreman’s blunt refusal to let you bleed indoors, forcing you to wait outside in agony. 

It’s with every ounce of that anger you stomp on his ragged workboot with your new steel-toed boots, a gift you’ve never so appreciated until now. 

He howls and backhands you and you really do stagger into the street. You hear shouting and jerk your arms up by your head on instinct just before someone grabs you by the neck-strap of your apron and drags you back to the walkway. 

A heavy draft-drawn cart rumbles by and you gasp at the near miss. 

Tailgate’s in front of you now, holding your wrists tightly. 

“Whirl? Whirl, look at me-” You can feel wet on the fire of your cheek and you wonder at it. You’re looking at her now, though, and she looks angry. 

“He tore your wound,” she says. 

You blink, bleary and confused. The rush of the excitement is fading and your body is tired. 

The man is shouting still, and you see him start toward you from behind her head. 

You jerk your arms to one side and she follows, startled and stumbling. 

You shake free and step before her, duck your head. 

It’s nothing like deference, though, and he can see it in your eye just as well as the onlookers. He raises his hand again and you stare back as blood follows the line of your face to dribble down your lip. 

The constables are there quite suddenly, and there’s little to be argued when a yard-worker is threatening two young women. 

Tailgate takes your arm and leads you back to the doctor, escorted by a constable. 

You meet her mother on the way and you can feel the threads of patience with her daughter’s pet project growing quite thin indeed; still, she agrees your half-healed face must be seen to. 

Tailgate’s hand flexes on your arm minutely and you know she’s more than aware of her mother’s limit of tolerance. 

Your time here, with her, is running out and the thought is nauseating. 

That discomfort manages to distract you from the pain of the cleaning and redressing and walking, until you are again safely behind the doors of her home. 

You are excused from dinner due to, as her father puts it, the stress of the day, and you lie on the cot tucked in a corner of her room and think blearily of thousands of fanciful ways you might yet remain by her side.

**Author's Note:**

> on tumblr @megatronismegagone


End file.
